


Healing

by BipLing, Skippy (floralisbronski)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Amélie Finding Herself, Healing, Reaper Helps a Little Bit, Widowmaker | Amélie Lacroix-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-02-04 17:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12775803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BipLing/pseuds/BipLing, https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralisbronski/pseuds/Skippy
Summary: After their first mission with Akande, Amélie returns to her chateau feeling.. different. A feeling she chooses to pursue.





	Healing

**Author's Note:**

> There aren’t enough Amélie focused fics so y e a h

Amélie storms into her ancestral home, The Chateau Gulliard. The mission went without a single hitch. Although she still questions Gabriel’s flare for drama and fashion, Akande and him lead them perfectly. She played her part to the best of her abilities and now she was finally at the only place she really wanted to be; Home. Her first real home. Coming back to it was like visiting a loved one’s grave, nostalgic memories popping up here and there as she walked through each room. It was an empty shell of its former self, dust coating every possible surface. Running a finger along a railing, she sweeps some away. Obviously, she has a lot of work in front of her to do. So much to renovate. But, for now, she deserves a glass of wine after her first real successful mission. 

Or maybe two. Or three. A whole bottle. 

Specifically, of some obscure brand from the 1800s that appeared to no longer be in manufacturing. She could only wonder why. Regardless of whether it was expensive, shitty wine, she’s going to get drunk tonight. 

The first glass in and she still feels fine. Lounging upstairs in what was left of the old study, curled up on a couch. She ponders the night’s events again, pouring another glass. Everything is just fine. But is she really? Gulping down her second glass, trying to drown the thoughts gnawing at the edges of her mind. How did she really feel? 

She’s lying to herself, she knows that much. 

Her mind starts to swim, old memories surfacing through the choppy waters of her brainwashing, revealing to her things that she didn't even remember forgetting. Parties, dates, concerts she danced at… Things slowly coming back to her that feels like they were from another lifetime. Amélie cannot help but glance over at the frame placed carefully on the bookshelf; her wedding photo. She dare not go pick it up and relive that precious day yet again. To see their old smiling faces, the times they were truly happy..

No. Not again. This isn’t happening again. She cannot just keep tormenting herself like this, with the same dead memories that have haunted her for years. She had to start over, to let go. There is no question about it. Tears well up in her eyes, remaking herself was definitely the only option. There’s something here she needs to do. Something here that needs completion. Amélie looks around the room in a frenzy, fingers twitching, but she heeds them no mind. Eventually her roving eyes stop at the unlit fireplace. She must light a fire. This is the way. The first beautiful decision since becoming self-operated. 

...Self-operated.

Yes, she’s sure that’s true. Amélie feels very new. As if she has been given new coding. She feels changed. Somehow. Hopefully this would be good for her. Out of a similar impulse, she glances down at the empty glass in her hand. Without a second thought, she smashes it down against the coffee table in front of her. A nervous grin makes its way onto her face, manic energy filling her veins. That felt so… good. Cathartic. What else could she destroy? Her eyes twitch over to a specific painting, an ugly abstract that she always hated. Perfect. Stumbling over to the desk, she retrieves a matchbox, attempting multiple times to properly light a match. Tossing one into the fireplace, it takes a few moments before the old wood lights. 

Swiftly retrieving the cursed painting, she sits for a moment to stare into it for the last time. It’s ugly and she would never understand what went through her parents’ minds, or Gérard’s, in order to buy such a thing. Anyways. Uplifting it above her head, she smashes the painting down against the brick floor, breaking the frame in half. She proceeds to tear it apart, throwing each half into the lit fire. Panting, Amélie watches it go up in flame, the paper curling in as it eventually disintegrates. God, it really did feel good. Her newfound destructive tendency goes wild, eyes roaming over walls and cabinets for more useless junk to burn. Or smash. Either one.

Going into a frenzy, the sniper begins to break old plates and glasses, chucking them across the room. Each one shatters against the wall, shards of ceramic falling against the floor. It was like she was releasing all of her negative emotions into every piece before she threw it, cleansing herself of the afflicting feeling. Her drunk self was also getting a kick out of destroying her family’s precious dinnerware set. So much old money down the drain. What a real pity. 

She eventually runs out of ammunition, her emotional purge successful so far. Looking down at herself, she was a mess. Her dress was stained with wine and lightly singed in places from trying to light so many matches. She didn’t have anything else to change into, either. Fuck it. As if it really mattered what she looked like anymore. She just didn’t care. 

Now, what is she to do? She couldn’t call anyone to tell her of her revelation, nor did she feel like anyone needed to know. This is for her. Somehow it was freeing having no one to report to. She walks all around the house then, just thinking. Noting random things she’s going to forget when sober. Eventually she winds back around to the front room, lays down in front of the fireplace and passes out. 

_____

Dawn breaks, the morning’s first rays of light shining through the chateau’s ornate windows. They reveal Amélie, lying on the floor and wishing she wasn’t alive. Her head was pounding, trying her best to squeeze her eyes shut to filter out the intense light. She’s hurting all over, a little confused, and a bit hungry. She doesn't remember the last time she went out that wasn't mission related. What would an exploration of the kitchen reveal? Maybe dust? Some spiders? If it came down to it, she could probably eat a spider. Maybe two if she were really hungry. There’s something that feels very wrong about stepping outside at the moment. Where are her sunglasses?

She pushes herself up onto shaky feet and something definitely feels… off? Like all her furniture was shifted an inch to the right or she’s forgotten something very important. Amélie has never felt like this before, it’s very unsettling. She feels the impulse to stumble into the bathroom, or, up stairs and into the bathroom. Her vision is still blurry. She’s still absolutely shitfaced. It’s a bit of an experience getting to one of them. She stumbles up the stairs, trips, crawls, bumps her knee, shakily stands back up, navigating a hallway in the dark. Shoving open what she assumed was still one of the bathroom doors, she gropes for the lightswitch. Flicking it on, she has to take a step back from what she saw in the mirror. 

Was this her? This wretched creature? She could see the fear in it’s eyes, and pinpoint the confusion. It looked marked for death. This is her? Amélie holds her hand up to the mirror, tracing the figure’s sunken in eyes. She looks just… tired, above all else. Burnt out like a dead lightbulb. Well, she wasn’t dead. Yet. She just stares for a moment, caught up in something. There’s a moment of true, calming silence. Then Amélie leans over the sink and throws up. All the hors d’oeuvres from last night, the wine, and bile. She’s sure she looks even more like a mess. Reaching up to shove her hair back behind her ears, she finds it doesn’t lay like it should. Groping around her head, all she feels are jagged, short ends. The realization comes to her that, yes, she did cut all of her fucking hair off after blacking out. She could’ve done the job better. She’d have to go get this fixed. Of course after she doesn't look like the monster under the bed. 

Amélie promptly leaves the bathroom, she doesn't bother with the lights, she doesn't take a last look at the mirror. She walks to her room, even though it’s the last thing she wants to do. Her wardrobe is here and she has to figure out what she can pass off as still in style. Most won't but some trends have come back. She has to be presentable. She flips through dress after dress and top after top until she finds an off-the-shoulder sun dress in a warm sunset orange. It was dangerously short, but was anything she owned not? With a sigh, she deems that it will have to do. She decides to pair it with an obnoxiously large white sun hat and a pair of old sunglasses, for the drama of it all. May as well try to keep up appearances and not look like some hungover B-list celebrity. Slipping on a pair of matching pumps, she is Ready as She’ll Ever Be. She flips open her comm, calling her personal chauffeur to lift her over the lake to the nearby town. Amélie had some depression shopping to do. 

On the brief boat ride there, she lets herself lean back in her seat, feeling the rush of the wind caress her skin. It feels so refreshing, something she really needs. She actually feels free for a moment. Her eyes close and she feels light and airy. The wind whipping her dress to and fro. 

A short-lived experience.

“We are here, Miss Lacroix.” 

“Ah, I see.” Sigh. 

Amélie steps off with flare, planting herself on the paved brick, looking vaguely out of a fashion editorial. She scans the buildings down the road. It was less pathetic than she assumed it would be. She makes her way down the pavement, trying her best not to stumble along in her heels. At the first sign she recognizes, she walks in. A grocery store. There a couple dozen people in the store, busily going through their days. Feeling relatively out of her element in such a civilian place, she acts like she’s browsing for something, looking over small plastic boxes of organic blueberries. 

Suddenly, she feels a presence directly behind her, smelling a mixture of cologne, cigarettes, and alcohol. It must be some drunk man. Shutting her eyes tightly, her hands tightly grip the edge of the open fridge. 

“What do you want?” 

“Well, now. Is that any way to greet someone? I just wanted to see if you needed help finding anything, Chérie.” A man’s voice with a soft French accent. She turns to see an unusual site; a pair of bright green eyes intensified by the dark skintone around them. The man they belong to is relatively handsome, a mess of curly hair at the top of his head. He’s dressed in bright white and silver tones, an open dress shirt and slacks. Awfully well dressed for just a trip to the grocery store? 

“I’m doing just fine, thank you.” Warning signs go off in her head. Had Talon sent this man to try and assassinate her? In broad daylight? She wouldn’t put it past them. 

“Alright. So riddle me this, how is it that I have no knowledge of such a beautiful woman such as yourself? It seems.. impossible.” He leans forward, hands in his pockets. Perhaps he has a weapon of some kind? 

“Thank you, but I already know I’m pretty. I do have a mirror at home. Many of them, in fact.” She rolls her eyes from behind her sunglasses. 

“Eh.. you don’t like me much, do you?” 

“Not one bit. For starters, I don’t even know your name.” 

A grin spreads on his face, showing off a perfect smile. He shakes his head at how forgetful he is. 

“The name’s Drystan, Darling.” 

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Then what shall I?” 

She swallows down her nerves, straightening herself up to her full height in her pumps. She seems to dwarf him by at least several inches. Thankfully, she has the height advantage at least. She stares down into his face, channeling ice queen into her answer. 

“... Amélie.” 

Drystan’s eyebrows upraise at her name, in what seems to be recognition. 

“You know, now that I think of it, you seem very familiar. Tell me, Amélie, what do you do?” 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

“Okay, a guessing game it is? Good, I always love a good challenge. Hrm.. Modeling?”

“No.” 

“How about…” He takes a second to give her a good once over, rubbing his beard with one hand. “I’ve got it! A dancer?” 

Amélie’s eyes widen, there is no way he could have guessed that so easily? It seemed as though she was indeed fated to die in this dreary town. 

“.. Yes.” 

“Ah! I knew it!” 

A long moment of silence passes between them, as the crowd moves around them. It feels like they’re moving in slow motion. She carefully watches his hands, bracing herself for any sudden movements. When it seems as though nothing’s coming, she lets out a tense breath.

“So is there still something you want? I’m kind of busy here.”

A grin spreads on his face, giving her a quick once-over. “I probably shouldn’t be doing this, but.. what do you say to going on a date with me later tonight?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me. I believe a lovely lady such as yourself deserves to be taken out, yes?” 

Amélie goes over her schedule in her head; lots of crying and drinking seems to be on her plate. Wow, did she have any free time to pencil him in? She looks into his face, full of apprehension. They were practically strangers to each other and yet.. she wanted to at least try. This is going to be For Her.

“... Fine.” 

“Splendid!” Drystan’s face lights up, rocking back and forth on his heels, seemingly unable to hold back his excitement. “I have an amazing place picked out already, the restaurant right on the water? I’m sure you must know of it.” 

“Sure.” Her driver would know how to get to wherever he was suggesting.

“Good! How does.. 8 o’clock sound?” 

“..Perfect.” 

“I shall see you then, Amélie.” He gives her a one final smile, before melting back into the crowd. She might die later tonight, but the least she could do is enjoy every moment before then. 

She stands in front of the open fridge, processing what just happened. A date. Her first date in what seemed like years. A small bubble of butterflies burst in her gut. She just couldn’t help but start to look forward to her evening. Another night out, but this time it was of her own volition. 

The rest of her day passes by in a blur; sitting in the hairdresser’s chair to suddenly sitting back in the boat on her way home. Her omnic driver stirs her from her introspecting.

“How was your day, madam?” 

“Ah, mundane.” She pauses. “Tell me, do you know where this certain restaurant is?” 

“The one right by the docks?” 

“... Yes? Is it a popular establishment or something?” 

“Quite. I don’t blame you for not knowing, Miss Lacroix, as you don’t get out that often. Why do you inquire about it?” 

“I have… a date later this evening.” 

The driver taps the side of his metal face, probably trying to think of just who could romance his ice cold employer. “I see. I shall take you to this date, then. I shan’t ask questions, as it is not my job to pry into your personal life.” 

“..Thank you?” 

“Of course, Madam.” 

The moment Amélie steps off the boat and into the comfort of her chateau, she becomes aware of just how drained she is. The toughness she’d held all day evaporates and all she wants is to pass out for a few hours. Making her slow ascent up to her study, she throws herself onto the couch in the corner, falling asleep. 

____

She wakes up in the same manner she did this morning, in a daze. There was no dehydration headache to accompany it, but she still feels like she slept for years. Like a vampire in hibernation. Her eyes run over the darkened room, confused for a moment where she is. Oh, right. Her family’s chateau. She nearly forgot she defected from Talon, thinking it was all just a fever dream she had just woken up from. She almost wishes it was. As Amélie runs a hand through her mess of bedhead, the date pops back into her head. She seems to be forgetting a lot this past day or so. Her emotional health in shambles, it’s not like she has the energy to remember things like Dates with Handsome Men. Handsome Men That May or May Not Kill Her. Eyes widening with panic, they shift to the clock on her desk. 7:00 PM. Fuck. Did she really sleep that long? She had to get ready right now, otherwise she’d be Very Late. Amélie Guillard-Lacroix wasn’t one to ever be late for anything. That same manic energy fills her body, kicking off her old heels, and ascending the stairs to the bathroom. The light is still on. She would deal with that later. For now, she tears the dress she still has on over her head, tossing it behind her as she steps into the tub. In proper Lacroix fashion, it was large and ornate; a seashell carved from marble. She blasts the hot water on, quickly starting to scrub the grime off her entire body and face. For the first time since she drunkenly cut off her hair, she thanks her past self for doing so. It would take so much longer to wash and dry if it were her usual length and thickness. 

With her shower done, she wraps towels around her head and body, throwing her walk-in closet open. Her eyes inspect every single possible dress, flicking through hanger after hanger. Minutes later, she decides on a sleek, low-cut black lace number. Sexy, mildly revealing, but with a heavy air of elegance. Just perfect for impressing on a first date. Normally she’d carefully craft her face like a Renaissance painter, but she didn’t have the time to get fancy like she prefers to. Letting the towels drop at her feet, she slips the dress over her body like a perfect fitting glove. Hastily going through the motions of her makeup routine in her mirror, she guesses it will have to do for now. She could make corrections on the way there. Speaking of, what time was it? Amélie’s almost afraid to check, peeking at the clock from the corner of her eye. 7:45. Better resign to her fate that she was indeed going to be Late. 

Her comm flickers to life, ringing rather obnoxiously. She hastily picks it up. 

“Yes?” 

“I just wanted to let you know I am here, Madam. I expected you to be waiting, but it seems I am the one doing so.” 

“... Well, I’ll only be a few more minutes.” 

“Yes, Madam. I’ll be here when you’ve finished getting ready.” 

Click. She collects her clutch, doing her best to not slip on the way down to the door. These heels are Prada and she only has one pair. Making it onto the boat as fast as she can, her driver guns it to town. On the way there she makes small final touches to her makeup while simultaneously conceding herself to her supposed fateful death. If he was a Talon agent, anyways. 

When she finally arrives, she’s immediately directed to the patio by the hostess. It’s a surprising sight. Candles dot the empty tables, the dim lanterns and moonlight casting dark, dramatic shadows over everything. It has a soft, romantic atmosphere, one that made you want to sit close to someone and gaze into the bright sky together. She held zero expectations, yet they were still beaten. He had to have bought out the entire patio section just for their date. A small red flag, but perhaps he just enjoyed the privacy? 

Speaking of Drystan, her eyes jump from each table until she finds him all the way in the back, leaning right up against the railing. Dressed in a simple yet dashing white suit, he’s smoking a cigarette, glancing down at his watch. He must feel her stare on him, looking up to scan the empty restaurant. Of course, there was no one else but them. That same bright smile from earlier lights up his face, snuffing out his cigarette and making his way over to Amélie. 

“Good evening, and may I say you look fantastic on this fine moonlit night.” He takes her hand, giving it a quick kiss. 

“You don’t have to butter me up, you realize?” 

“Ah, that I do.” Drystan shrugs. “Call me a romantic. I just prefer to treat my dates as they deserve.” 

She cocks an eyebrow. “Whatever you say, Romeo.” 

The two retreat to their table, an open bottle of red wine and two glasses sitting on it. He pulls out her seat for her before settling into his. He looks extremely nervous, adjusting his tie and running a hand absently through his hair. Amélie watches with mild interest, going to pour herself some wine. 

“Ah, let me do that, Love.” He goes to take the bottle, but she squints at him. Who was he to get in the middle of her and her wine? 

“I can pour my own drink. Also, you do recall I have a name, yes?” 

“Yes, Amélie. If you dislike the pet names, I can do without. Just a.. force of habit.” He gives her a nervous grin. 

“I never said I didn’t.” She promptly takes a sip of wine. 

Drystan swallows, taking note of her sudden change in mood. “Are you okay..?” 

Amélie looks him straight in the face, scrunching her face up in brief thought. “No.” 

“Oh. Do you.. wanna talk about it?” 

“What made you think I’d want to do that?” She takes another long sip of wine. 

“Well, usually people talk about their feelings when they’re not okay.” 

She rolls her eyes, reeling back her hand as he reaches over to hold it. “Listen, you don’t know me. And you really shouldn’t care to.” 

“And why’s that exactly?” 

Her expression stiffens, amber eyes piercing into his. “Let’s just say I’ve done a lot of bad things.” 

He leans forwards, tilting his head to hear better. “Yes..? So what?” 

She glances out over the water, watching how the moonlight reflects off it and the gentle sloshing of the waves against the brick patio’s side. Amélie leans back in her seat, tilting her head to now look into the sky at the bright stars, each one twinkling so strongly. They may very well be the last beautiful thing she sees. 

“Amélie..?” 

This doesn’t feel right at all, like she thought it would. This man wasn’t the one for her, he wouldn’t be able to understand her plight. Wishful thinking on her part. Her gaze turns back to Drystan, icy cold. “You know, this was really nice and all, but I really think I should get going.” 

“W-wait, what?” His eyes widen in shock. “No, no - it’s fine, forget I asked about any of it!” 

Amélie shrugs. “Too late.” 

“But-”

She raises a finger to hush him, draining her wine glass. “Adieu, Chérie.” 

Amélie gets up from her seat, turning to leave. Drystan grabs her by the wrist, feet planted firmly. “You can’t leave already - we just started our date! Can’t you stay a little bit longer?” 

“Ah.. no.” 

As she tugs herself out from his grip and starts to make her way back to the boat, Drystan yells after her. “Can’t you at least tell me why?” 

She stops, looking back over her shoulder, channeling every bit of Widowmaker that she can. Her eyes are cold, absolutely devoid of any emotion, flat and lifeless. Jaw set, neck long, a small smug grin slowly eases onto her lips. She’s picturing murder in her head and a bullet specifically through Drystan’s.

“I’d have to kill you, Chéri.” She states this very matter-of-factly, as if it’s something she wouldn’t be able to not do. “Now, forget I ever existed and I’ll let you live.” 

“What are you talking about..? You’re a dancer, are you not?” 

She chuckles. “Oh, dear, sweet Drystan, there is so much you don’t know about me. Now, again, adieu.” 

Amélie turns back, returning to the boat. Her driver is still waiting there, as if he knew how it would turn out. She sits in the back seat, legs folded, hands in her lap. 

“So, how did your evening go, Madam?” 

She scoffs. “How do you think it went?” 

“Exactly as I assumed. You truly are an untamable one, Miss Lacroix.” 

“Thank you..?” 

“Now, shall we get going?” 

She finally allows her shoulders to slump, breaking her facade. “Yes, please.” 

As the boat pulls away from the dock, she takes a final glance at the restaurant. Drystan is sitting at their table, by himself, head in his hands. Perhaps he’s wondering how things could have turned out so poorly? Just his luck, she supposes. Unfortunate, truly a pity. She really did think he was a cute one. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she contemplates giving him a second chance. But is he the one she needs? A dawning realization comes over her, like the moon revealing itself from behind thick clouds. Maybe.. she didn’t need someone else to make her happy? Maybe she could simply do it herself? What a novel idea. 

Arriving back at the Chateau, she slips off her heels, holding them in her hand as she steps back into familiarity. Everything feels like it’s finally coming into place. Her eyes rove over the dark walls of the mansion, seeing all the things she could improve and fix. With the progress of renovations, she herself would Get Better. She sits herself at the dinner table at her usual seat, leaning back in it. Even though everything is feeling good, she can’t help but sense a feeling of darkness in her life. With an eyeroll, she speaks sternly, as if to a friend she’s known for years. 

“Gabriel.” 

From the dark corners of the room, smoke curls out, wrapping around itself until the tangible form of Reaper appears. He tilts his head, clawed hands on his hips. His voice is smug. “So, how long did it take you to realize I was here?” 

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. I knew I was being watched. As if Talon would really leave me to my own devices.” She shifts her chair, staring into the owl mask. “So, are you going to do it, then?” 

“.. Do what, Lacroix?” 

“Kill me. Is that not what you’re here for?” 

He shakes his head, gravelly chuckling. “Oh, you really think I spent all this time for that? I could’ve killed you as soon as you came back from the mission. So, no, that’s not why I’m here.” 

“Then..?” 

He paces around the table, leaning against it. “First off, let me just say, it’s sad to see you of all people in such a pathetic state. And that’s me saying that. Now, don’t ever repeat these words that I’m about to say, understand? People will think I’ve gone soft.” 

“Ah, but Chéri, you always were.” 

She can tell he’s glaring at her from behind his mask. “Did you want me to let you live or not?” 

Amélie waves a hand dismissively. “Forgive me, Gabriel. You’re always so easy to mess with.” 

“... Anyways. I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. Now, I’ve been busy leading Talon off your trail. Giving them misinformation. I don’t really care what you’ve got planned, but clearly it’s personal. Let’s just say it’s the least I can do.” He clenches a clawed hand, as if he’s squishing Talon itself in it. “You more than any of us deserve to get out first.” 

Reaper shifts his eyes up to the study, knowing the exact location of their wedding photo. He can’t help but feel.. sorry for her. He knows his pity means little, but he cannot avoid the fact of how much she lost to this disgusting organization. All Talon is is a means to an end. He moves his gaze back over her face, sighing. “Listen, Gérard was a great man. You and I both know that. But nothing’s going to bring him back.” 

“I know that. Do you think I’m delusional?” She sneers. 

“Far from that.” His form dissipates into smoke, only to poof back into existence behind her chair. Reaper’s hands grip her shoulders unusually gently, turning her around to face him. “Listen, you need to let go of him. What happened with loverboy out there?” 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about-”

“Oh, please. The date you went on? Don’t play dumb, Lacroix. You could’ve at least enjoyed your time with him than storm out like some stuck up child.” 

She crosses her arms over her chest, glancing to the side. “It didn’t feel right, Gabriel. Besides, I’ve already decided I’m going to live my life in solitude from this moment forwards.” 

“Don’t be stupid. You’ll only end up hurting yourself.” He briefly shakes her. “You need to do something, Lacroix. Anything.” Reaper takes a step back, gesturing around himself to the Chateau, to show her everything at her disposal. In typical dramatic Gabriel flare, it starts to pour outside as if on cue. Amélie looks out the window, an idea blooming in her mind like a rose. Something silly.. childish even. Much like that first night, it’s an impulse she can’t help but give in to. She looks to Reaper, who simply waves her on like a director telling her to go on with the scene already. Slowly, she gets up from her seat to saunter to the door. Wrapping her fingers around the knob, she lets it swing open. The soft noise of the patter of water against brick fills her ears, the smell of rain in her nose. Amélie looks back to Reaper once more, a small smile spreading on her face. She feels.. grateful. Walking out into the pouring rain, she lets it flow through her hair, soaking her dress. It feels like every single thing weighing her down is washed away, joining the rainwater on the ground. She steps out further, raising her arms to either side. Throwing her head back, she stares up into the dark, clouded sky. This is it, the thing she’s been waiting for. 

Amélie feels brand new, like a baby being baptized. She no longer feels chained down by her old self, it fills her with an energy, a determination, to finally start to change. Into what, who can say? But, it’s exciting, the possibilities stretching out before her eyes in their glittering shimmer. Pearls ripe for the taking. She can do whatever she wants, for once. Running back inside, she practically leaps onto Reaper, arms closing around his waist. Another impulsive idea. 

“Lacroix.. you’d better let go of me.” She finds herself crying, letting out all the bottled up emotions she’s held for years. It makes her feel light-headed. “I’m serious.” 

“I know, forgive me, Gabriel.” Amélie wipes at her eyes, stepping back. He has his arms folded, looking up and away as if trying to ignore her gesture. “... Thank you.” 

“For what? I didn’t do anything.” 

“That much is obvious. I just need somebody to thank.” She scoffs. “You truly are a softie, deep down.” 

“Say that again and I swear I’ll kill you, Lacroix.” 

She rolls her eyes. “Now, what exactly are you going to do? Report back to Talon?” 

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, pondering it already. “Falsify some reports.. make it seem believable. They’ll have no reason to think anything is wrong. This is the only time I’m doing this for you, understand?” 

“Crystal clear, Chéri.” She gives him a curt grin. As she turns away from him, she looks on her Chateau with brand new eyes. The possibilities, the things she could do with the place.. the person she could become. She has a lot of work ahead of her, indeed.


End file.
